


The Broken Background

by ThickThighedDrone



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Attempted Abortion, Multi, Rape/Non-con Elements, Unplanned Pregnancy, Unrequited Love, spark preg, sticky in later chapter, tags will be updated with chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-05-22 13:42:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6081504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThickThighedDrone/pseuds/ThickThighedDrone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A place for my drabbles that center around background characters. Main focus will most likely be on Flatline and his various relationships during and after the war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Keep Him

The sound of uneven beeping was drowned out by the crashing of medical equipment against the wall…and the roars of a very unhappy black medic.

Flatline’s spark almost seized the first time he received a message from the infamous leader of the DJD. It was true he was a neutral now, but so were a fair amount of fellow ex-decepticons. The medic highly doubted that he would have been placed that high up on the list, but he still had to fight to keep the fear out of his voice when he finally managed to reply Tarn.

Everyone had a price and could be bought. Now, how Tarn came to know Flatline’s was a mystery, unless Turmoil was more observant than Flatline had initially thought while stationed on his ship. It really didn’t take Tarn very long to convince the large medic to come to Messatine for a ‘favor’.

Flatline’s fingers twitched every time he thought of the terms of their agreement. It was so underhanded to take advantage of a medic this way, and it killed him that Tarn knew exactly how to manipulate him. Dangle two lives above his helm and watch him roll over and do tricks. That’s exactly how this was. Coming periodically to Messatine meant that a fellow medic would be safe…and an estranged lover would be moved much further down the list.

Deadlock…no…Drift, that was his name now, Drift was still alive and Flatline planned to keep it that way best to his ability, even if it meant patching up poor Pharma just to have him served up to the mad mech again and again. Flatline had offered time and time again to take over the work for Pharma, pillaging the dead wasn’t beyond him after all. No…this had to stay some sort of sick game to Tarn.

It didn’t help that the DJD leader had developed some sort of sick attraction to the smaller medic. An attraction that lead to a frequently torn valve and crushed wings.

Flatline finally calmed himself enough to sit down next to his patient’s medberth. This time had been the worst yet and Flatline wasn’t sure what set Tarn off so badly that he not only forced himself on the winged medic, but beat him near spark failure. Staring at the prone mech, he listened to the arrhythmic pulse of the spark monitor and trampled the same thought that dared to keep crossing his processor.

Take him away

Take him away

Just run…

Pharma should just be another mech to him, but there was no denying that the autobot medic was special. How many of them were left? The large mech couldn’t help but wonder as he looked down at his own talented hands. He knew of Pharma before the war, how talented he was and the insane amount of potential the flier possessed. It was no surprise the smaller mech was among the few medics to make it through the war. None of that mattered to Tarn, apparently. 

JUST TAKE HIM!

“I see you’ve come through for me yet again, Doctor.”

Flatline fought the urge to growl as he looked up at that Primus damned mask. “I almost didn’t, sir.” He stood, but didn’t move from Pharma’s berth side. “He’s not a fighter; he can’t handle this kind of attention from you.”

“How I train my pets is my business, dear Doctor.” The corners of his optics creased, indicating a hidden smile as he held up a data pad. “Speaking of which…”

Take him, he can’t survive this again…

Just take him!

“For your commendable work this time, I’ll be generous and knock your pathetic little crush down a whole ten slots.”

Flatline twitched, that was most he’s gotten from Tarn so far. It also meant that even though he couldn’t communicate with or see him, Drift was still alive.

Safe…

Keep him safe

“Now, how long before I can take my dear jet home, hm?” The tank had the nerve to softly purr and place a gentle hand on the recovering mech’s mended cockpit.

Flatline could only stare for a moment as an internal war waged in his processor.

Take him

Keep him safe

Take…

Safe…

Tarn only had to clear his vocalizer once to snap Flatline back into reality.

“Four days…He’ll be stable enough in four days.”

Tired optics narrowed as Tarn casually put a hand on the hearse’s shoulder.

“Splendid. Again, good work, Doctor.”

He could feel his spark start to twist some as he looked back down at his patient, not bothering to watch Tarn as he left. Fingers twitched as he reached over to lightly touch the broken corner of Pharma’s chevron.

Stopping at the door, the purple mech looked over his shoulder one last time. “Oh, and doctor?”

“Sir?”

“Do keep him safe for me.”

Flatline’s hand fell away.


	2. Disposable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please heed the abortion warning for this one.

“I don’t give a damn what you do with it, just get rid of it!” Pharma heaved through his vents as he forced his chest plates closed. The jet was unsteady as he sat on the edge of the medberth, fighting the urge to vomit and scream at the top of his vocalizer at the same time. Blue servos shook as they kept reaching up to make sure aching chest plates were firmly latched, but the urge to rip them open and check to make sure it was gone was so very strong. 

“Pharma, please calm down and lay back on the berth. You know you shouldn’t be up!” Flatline was trying to handle the noncompliant jet with one hand and keep a firm grasp on the containment cylinder in his other.

A snarl ripped through the smaller medic as he slapped the black hand away. “Do NOT touch me! You’re here to do a job and it’s not finished! So. Finish. It!” 

In the jet’s weakened state it was rather easy for Flatline to grab his wrist and force him down on the berth. “I’ll finish the job once you stop acting like an idiot and rest your body! You of all people should know that after something like this you need to fragging rest! DO NOT make me cuff you to the berth! If you need more incentive to lay the frag still then think about the fact that if you don’t hurry up and heal then Tarn WILL know that something happened!”

Any fight left in the jet was suddenly drained at the mention of his tormentor turned twisted lover. The other medic’s grip on his wrist slowly loosened as Pharma’s vents hitched and blue optics looked away.  
“Please…just be done with it. Take it…get it out of my sight.” Pharma pleaded quietly as he finally settled into the berth. Pain etched the normally handsome mech’s face, but it wasn’t all from the physical strain his body just went through.   
Flatline had never seen the other doctor like this before. Even after all the beatings and rough interface sessions, Pharma was still able to spit acid and verbally hold his ground, but not this time. This was the blow to finally break the mech.

“Rest…I’ll finish up.” A tired type of pity laced Flatline’s voice as he rubbed the flier’s wrist in an apology for being necessarily rough. It hadn’t been the first time he had to mech-handle the once proud medic, but part of him felt that he wouldn’t have to worry about that much anymore. 

Slowly easing away from his patient’s berth, Flatline quietly made his way to a small lab that was attached to his ship’s medibay. The container in his hand pulsed gently and warm, the soft aqua light of the so small spark filtering through the treated glass pulled another knot in his gut with every flicker  
.   
“Back before the war…” He whispered, “I would have never imagined myself doing something so barbaric. Taking an enemy’s life is one thing; that’s essential to survival.” He turned the containment cylinder over between his palms, escaping back for a moment to when he specialized in bringing life into the world, not needlessly throwing it away. 

The compression chamber never bothered him before; it was just a small square box that sometimes proved itself useful when certain things needed repaired. Now, it emanated coldness and death…a premature spark wouldn’t last ten minutes inside of it before snuffing out. Red optics reflected in mirrored surface gazed back at him for what seemed like ages.

“It’s better this way.” Flatline wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself or the warm life in his hand.

The small orb started to flicker and pulse more unsteadily before flaring brighter again. It wasn’t going to last much longer in such a small containment cylinder, not with how premature it was, but it seemed like it wanted to try.

“Still hanging in there, huh?” he needed to just go ahead and do this. He wasn’t sure if that tiny life could feel pain, but just in case he should stop its suffering. Looking back up to the compression chamber, he stopped at the reflection of his own chest plates.

He stared. He stared long and hard at his own chest and focused on the strong pulse that lay beneath those heavily reinforced plates. 

Oh. Oh, he must be out of his damn mind. There were so many risks involved…and if Pharma or Tarn found out…?

He watched his chest plates slowly unlock and fold back within the surface of the compression chamber before holding up the small spark. “Okay, kid…I’m willing if you are.”

Careful hands angled the cylinder towards his exposed spark chamber before releasing the seal on the lid, a small hiss was heard as it spiraled open. The spark inside didn’t move at first, still trying to feed off the small energy field within the containment, but soon it seemed to visibly perk up at the strong wave of energy being emitted from the much larger spark just mere inches from the cylinder’s opening. It was slow, but it started to make its way, small energy tendrils reaching out for that strong pulling source.

Flatline smiled. “Welcome home, kid…”


	3. A Voice that Doesn't Listen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you just need to take your own advice.  
> Characters: Blaster, First Aid, Nightbird, Ravage

There he goes again, spouting off about how great Springer is and how he can't believe the famous wrecker is actually writing to HIM! First Aid was too cute for his own good...at least that's what Blaster was telling himself as he watched the adorable little medic wave his arms in the air as he chatted excitedly with friends a few tables over. It wouldn’t be the first time the future CMO didn’t notice him staring, most likely not the last either.

Blaster vented a sigh into his drink before draining the last few sips and setting it down onto the bar top with a soft ‘tink’. Yeah, this’ll do for the night. Getting lost in high-grade was never really his thing, especially when he was feeling down and lonely. Heh, yeah, the ‘Voice’ feeling lonely, that was hard for anyone on the ship or half of Cybertron to believe.

Need someone to liven up a party? Need some advice or just words to lift you up? Blaster’s your mech!  
So everyone thought…

The communications mech silently slid off his barstool, not worrying about flagging Swerve down to pay since he knows it’ll make it onto his tab by morning anyway, and headed for the door. He really couldn’t handle one more wrecker story coming from the other table, coming from the one mech that he wants to notice him. Really notice him. 

Maybe if he punched Springer in that damn handsome face of his, then First Aid would notice him for sure!

Another sigh as he cleared that violent thought from his fantasies and aimlessly made his way down a few corridors, at least the halls were quiet at this hour. Where could he go to brood tonight? Ah, this observation lounge coming up will do nicely. They were always dark, only illuminated by the passing stars, and the comfy couches and chairs were great for just sitting and reflecting one’s life away. 

Of course it was empty once he entered, why be here when you could be at the bar getting plastered? Blaster had to admit though, the soft humming of the ship and the soft light from the windows was rather relaxing. The plush couch he lowered himself onto wasn’t too bad either. Leaning his helm back and sinking into the padding, he offlined his optics and took a deep vent.

The red and yellow mech wasn’t sure how much time had passed as he let his thoughts wander, mostly consisting of the little medic he wish he knew how to woo, but when he finally onlined his optics he met a pair of yellow ones staring at him from beside his spot on the couch.

Blaster will never admit to the scream he emitted or how he had to pick himself up off the floor. He still had a reputation to uphold!

“I tend to have that effect on people.” Came the quiet and rough voice of the new couch occupant.

“Primus, Nightbird…don’t do that!” Brushing himself off some, the communications mech reclaimed his spot on the couch. He was still getting use to the new half-drone on the ship, especially after its upgrades into a larger and more intimidating frame. “Ya gotta warn a mech, especially when you’re all stealthy like that!” 

“It’s my job to be stealthy, or so it was at least,” The drone let out an airy chuckle, “now I get to bug you in the comms room, since apparently there’s nothing better for me to do around here. Anyway, not only am I stealthy…I’m very observant.” It leveled a look at Blaster, pale optics raised a bit at the corners hinting at a smirk under their mask.

Blaster huffed, “Yeah yeah, I know, it’s part of ya job.” He crossed his arms over his chest and did a very good job of not pouting.

“Talk to him.”

“S’cuse me, mech?”

“Stop sulking about like a newbuild who can’t get the upgrades they want and go talk to that little cutie with a booty,” a blunt digit was pressed to Blaster’s chest plate, “before someone else does.”

“Birdie, I think this is something ya shouldn’t be putting your nose in-“

“Why?” they cut Blaster off sharply, “because I’m a drone and I don’t know the woes of being in love? Let me explain something to you, Mr. Mech, I may have my optics on a certain quadruped right now, but I’ve had an unrequited crush before. Funny thing is, I call it ‘unrequited’ because I never took the chance to figure out how they felt towards me. I didn’t feel like I was worthy or deserved them. Well, I don’t see things that way now. I haven’t been alive nearly as long as the rest of you, but I’ve come close to dying enough of times to realize I have to take those chances before it’s too late. Besides, rejection doesn’t kill you, it helps you to move on.”

There was a stretch of silence before Blaster smiled a little and shook his head.

“Never thought I’d be getting relationship advice from an ex-con, but…ya right, Birdie. I need to stop waiting on him to notice me and just be straight with him,” He straightened in his seat some, “also, I’m sorry if i implied that because you’re a drone ya, ya know, don’t know how to love.”

“Aw, now don’t go getting all mushy on me, music mech. Save the sweet talk for the medic.” They started tapping at Blaster’s shin with the tip of their pede. “That means get your aft out of my thinking spot and go after him before he leaves the bar.” That caused blue optics to widen.

“Wait, what? Now?”

“Yes, now! Before you spend too much time thinking about it! Get! Go!”

The purple and grey drone was now hauling the mech out of his seat and pushing him towards the door.

“I’m going! I’m going! Primus, stop pushing!” Flailing a bit, he finally straightened up once out in the corridor. Deep vent in. Deep vent out. “I can do this…just gotta talk to him.”

“I’ll be expecting an invitation to your bonding ceremony, you know?”

That earned a small whining noise from the comm officer before he finally squared his shoulders and marched down the hall, back towards Swerve’s. He had a medic to woo!

Nightbird smiled as the door closed behind them. Finally, they had their spot back!

Not two steps back to the couch their sensors picked up a faint tingle of something or someone else in the room, watching them.

“And just how long have you been listening.”

Ravage, in all his elegance, slinked out from the shadows and gave a tilt of his head. “Sometimes, those with the most advice to give are the ones in need of great help.”

“He always puts others ahead of himself, he just needed a small reminder that he also matters.” Nightbird shrugged, trying not to fidget as they wondered just how much the spy overheard.

“He’s not the only one that ignores their own needs.”

Yellow optics only managed to hold red ones for a bare few moments before a heavy sigh was vented. “Fine…, “the drone went and plopped themselves back onto the previously occupied couch and pat the cushion next to them. “I guess it’s time for me to take my own advice, hm?”

ONE WEEK LATER

First Aid turned his helm to look at his comm device as it chimed then blinked at him.

“Is that Springer writing back?”

The medic flicked the screen and glanced at it. “Yeah…”

“Ah…uh, guess you wanna get that then.”

A red and white hand moved to cover the comm. officer’s as First Aid moved to sit a bit closer. 

“He can wait. Now, what were you saying, Blaster?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had my own version of upgraded!Nightbird for a few years now. I tend to make them androgynous, but sometimes I will use he/she pronouns depending on the story. (I also secretly hope the pairing of nightbird/ravage will catch on~)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are very much welcomed! Kudos are nice, but I'd like to know what you guys like or what you want more or less of.


End file.
